This was originally slated for Fallworld, and I think it's still going there. Like my previous work there, it's long, but I hope you guys stick with it and enjoy.
Comments, are always appreciated.
Without any further ado, I give you -
It was all silent. Silent and slow. Like a dream.
I can still see them. I still see M'rt'rs body jerking from the 12.7 HEAP. Water from the shattered fish tank, splashing off his face shone a rainbow from the fallen lamp at his side. I thought how beautiful it looked, so bright and vibrant, contrasting with the torn and water stained wallpaper of Campbell's apartment. I remember Peyton grabbing my shoulder, turning me to face him. His pale face, so full of pain and rage, screaming silently at me. I look at his chest and see blood – red, red and bold against the chrome of his DeathSuit. He said to me once that he made his Suit that way so that when the flashes of the cameras caught it, it would reflect his true brilliance. That was Peyton for you, all brash and smug. Campbell was kicking out a hole in the wall to my left. Peyton was trying to pull me that way, but I looked back at M'rt'rs body. He was on his side now, blood pouring from his chest wounds. He was reloading his BullyBoy with shaking hands.
I started toward him, to help him, to heal him, but he looked at me – sensing my thoughts and ordering me to fall back. His proud face set in fierce determination. He was dying a warriors death, I would only interfere. Peyton pulled my shoulder again and this time, I went with him. I watched as M'rt'rs finished reloading and dragged himself to a sitting position. Bracing the weapon against his hips he fired repeatedly. His mouth shrieks a war cry of defiant glory his scarf flapping in some unseen wind source. When did he put the scarf on? I don't recall. He was watching TV when we were hit. I was in the kitchen. Why did he have his scarf on when he was watching TV? I see the pizza, wet and trodden on the kitchen floor – wasted. We scramble through the hole.
One last look. I see M'rt'rs body looking up at the figure in black Crackshot. 3000 credits. Power Projects, holding a Blitzer at his head. I have a Blitzer. I've had one for years. We all did. It was more of a status symbol rather than a weapon. M'rt'rs snarls at the figure, pushing his head hard against the barrel. The sound of the Blitzer rings out in my ears. M'rt'rs head folds in on itself then jerks back violently. I cry out in horror. The figure in the Crackshot turns to face me. Peyton's Blitzer sings its death dirge in my right ear as he fires at the figure. I close my eyes as my helmet instinctively covers my head to muffle the sound. I am being pulled now. I scream in confused outrage. I scream for M'rt'rs warrior death. I scream.
Campbell was shouting. I don't know how long he was shouting. Peyton was swearing. I don't know how long he was swearing. I don't know how long I was crying. All I know is that we had stopped moving. I think we were in some sewer conduit.
Peyton was talking. "Calliope, hey kiddo, c'mon it's safe now. Stop that, shh c'mon kiddo, shh."
"For fuck's sake Peyton. What the fuck happened? What the fuck? Who the fuck were they? Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh fuck me. Oh shit." Campbell was pacing.
"Calliope, c'mon kiddo. Stop crying now. We gotta get it together. We made it out. We did it. Shh now. C'mon."
"Peyton you're hit. You hit? Is it bad? Peyton! Is it bad? Fuck man! You're hit! Jesus oh fuck me. Mother fu…" The UV must have worn off completely. Campbell was getting neurotic. I had to get it together. I had to stop crying. I gotta get it together.
"Peyton is Calliope dead? Is she dead? Jesus, did M'rt'rs make it? Did he? I don’t see him. He knows about this place? This is the fallback point right? We were followed? Calliope is she dead? Peyton fuck man, you're bleeding. Jesus H mother fucking Christ!
"Campbell! For shits fucking sake, will you cool it? We need you cool." Peyton was only just holding on.
"Where's Iscariot? What happened? Did Kaine make it? I didn't see him. The door just fucking exploded. He went to the door and it fucking exploded. What the hell is going on here? Oh Jesus, oh man. Oh fuck me." Campbell was no use to anyone.
I sat up. "I'm okay Peyton, I'm okay. Campbell! I'm okay we're all okay. Iscariot was over at Julia's apartment. Julia, Campbell his girlfriend. He's fine." I looked at Peyton. "We'll have to call him."
Peyton nodded. He face, usually smirking at some private joke, was careworn and stress fatigued. Peyton was worried. Peyton never worried.
"I need a hit. I need a hit. I need a hit." Campbell was fumbling with his pocket.
"NO!" Peyton was moving toward him, "Campbell, no! We need you cool. Just ease it back. Call Iscariot. Here's my phone. Call Iscariot. Can you do that?"
"Su..sure Peyton, I can do that. Sure. No problem. I'm on it." Campbell was close to going over. Peyton knew it, but he had to keep him busy.
I close my eyes, and think. I sit up with a start. "Peyton, we gotta call it in. That ordnance. All those weapons. We gotta get Shiver back up. We gotta call it in."
"Yeah, I know, first things first Calliope. I want to…"
"NO! Peyton, no! We gotta call it in. If those guns hit the streets again then it was all for shit. M'rt'rs and Kaine. Peyton! All for shit. Call it in."
"CALLIOPE!" He was shaking me, "Just give me a fucking minute! I gotta get my head together over this. Someone set us up! Don't you see that?"
Campbell's jaw quivered, "Peyton? Whadda ye mean Peyton? Who set us up? Why?"
I shook my head.
"No, Peyton. DarkNight just found us. Somehow they found us. No one set us up. Peyton, look at me." I move his face to look into his eyes, "Who could have set us up, Peyton? The only people who knew about the operation were the DOR and our squad. DOR and our squad. Now who set us up huh?"
It was bullshit. Peyton was just being paranoid.
"I just gotta think about this, okay?" Peyton looked into my eyes, and smiled. That same old smile. He kissed my hand, and my stomach lifted. "I need to think."
His hand caressed the side of my face. How long had it been since he had done that? Ever since it started. He was getting close. He knew it, and I knew it. No one else did, but he couldn't hide it from me. That's why he ended it. It had to be. I don't believe he didn't love me anymore.
"Did you get a hold of Iscariot?" Peyton stood and walked to the opposite side of the tunnel.
"Nay, he's gone out. Probably down the Pit, know?" Campbell was calming down. Thinking rational again. Well, as rational as any Frother not 'Rushing' could be I guess.
"We gotta think this through. What happened?" Peyton was resting his head on his arm against the wall. His eyes closed. He couldn't see my tears, or Campbell relieve himself on the wall. I close my eyes, and think of the operation. It went smoothly. It should've. It was routine. A simple smash and grab. Peyton and I had done all the legwork calling in the others for the assault.
"One, you and four in position?" Peyton was looking through the window of the building opposite the DarkNight safe house.
"Four here, copy that Con, one and four in position" M'rt'rs rasped back over the radio. He and Campbell had the front door. Frontal assault was their specialty. Both could storm a room and take out the hostiles with their 204's with precision that bordered on legendary. Both of them had survived three Black Ops, which was almost unheard of. Even on UV Campbell could still maintain. That's why Peyton had chosen both of them for his squad.
"Three, you set?" Kaine. The Waster. He always gave me the creeps, and he knew it. He always used to walk in on me in the shower or when Peyton and I were alone. Peyton used to say he was only being Kaine. That was his way. He liked removing people from their 'comfort zone' as he called it. Then he'd put himself there, so all he did was irritate you more. He was an asshole, and he enjoyed the killing too much. He always had this aura of death about him. I hated him. I never understood why he and Peyton were friends. I understood that Peyton saved his life, and according to Kaine, Peyton then owned his life. He was like that. I guess it was his from his childhood in Orienta. M'rt'rs had said that despite his unnecessary rages and lapses of discipline, he possessed a warriors spirit and was worthy of being in the same squad as M'rt'rs. I guess that's why he gave him a braid. Campbell was just impressed at his ability to keep up in the inane drinking games that he devised. Iscariot was the only other who felt the same way I did.
"No, I just dropped down to get some ice cream. What do you fucking think?" Was Kaine's usual reply.
"Three maintain discipline!" M'rt'rs was never to be trifled with at the best of times. He had no mood for Kaine's attitudes, especially on a mission.
"Three in position." Kaine's voice was tight. He hated that. He'd not be joining us for drinks after this mission. Good. I can't say I was upset by it.
"Copy that three. Five, you got the vision?"
"Roger that, five has the ball. Three targets left of my position. Seven to the right. Repeat Seven to my right. Four are playing cards, one sitting down on the floor, two watching the Vid. Copy that Four? One? That's your playground. Two targets in the second bedroom. Hold. Correction, three targets in the second bedroom. Hooraa!" Iscariot chuckled.
Campbell nudged M'rt'rs, who looked back impassively. Campbell's grin only broadened. M'rt'rs turned back to the door, and gripped his weapon tightly.
"Whoa, a floor show! I got that room!" Kaine sneered.
I shivered at his tone. You would watch wouldn't you, you sick fuck. Peyton squeezed my hand, reading my thoughts. I smiled back at him.
Iscariot was the Scout. He was little over 200 metres away with his FEN 30-30. He was back up. He was loaded with his own custom made, Armour Piercing rounds. He could shoot through the wall and most SLA armour types with minimal difficulty. The only problem would be if one of us stood behind the target as well. Though he assured us that our armour would probably stop it after it had gone through a wall and a body. Probably.
"Okay, team this is lead we are set for go-mission. One and four set door charges. Three start formulating. Five has the ball. Set for go in 3 mikes, acknowledge?"
The team responded, and all that was left was to control your breathing and wait for it to go down. I hate this part. I always worry about someone dying. We were a very experienced squad with high level clearance. Kaine holding the bag at SCL 7C, Peyton leading at 6B. This job was simple. SLA ordnance had to be recovered of DarkNight terrorists and returned to HQ. The hardest part was the investigation. That done, all that was left was the recovery. Still with this many hostiles it raised the stakes.
"Excuse me Sir, but we may have a problem here." Franklin Corres informed his superior.
"Hmm?" Without looking up.
"This BPN was issued along with appropriate warrants approximately two hours ago. It seems that the shipment is about to be recovered." Franklin placed the folder in front of his superior. He needn't inform his senior that the Operative sent to intercept the BPN before it was placed into circulation had failed. Nor did he need to tell him that the Operative was now manning a radar post on Cross.
The senior man looked over the file. "This operation has been in progress for several months now. How many agents do we have in the field?"
"Six undercover agents sir, ten more in the investigating team. Sir, two of them are in the safe house at the moment."
"Whose team is on this?"
"Peyton Walsh, sir. 6B I&I."
"Blessed Noir Squad? Perfect. Not like they will be missed" The sarcasm wasn't veiled.
"Sir, this operation needs to be protected. There are agents lives at stake."
"Find out which financier contracted this BPN and bring him in."
"Sir."
"Franklin, about the other. That has to be dealt with swiftly. See to it."
"Yes sir." Franklin left the office. Shame, Blessed Noir was a good squad, mused Franklin. Still life goes on…for some.
"Execute."
The safe house exploded with activity. M'rt'rs and Campbell were in the living room in seconds, 10mm HEAP exploding the heads of the startled DarkNight operatives. Chairs, tables, playing cards and headless bodies littered the floor. The stripped parts of a 'Finisher' assault rifle lay covered with gun oil and brain fluid from the seated DarkNight Op on the floor. The two armchairs fill the air with floating debris as the bodies of the TV watching ops jerked spasmodically in the chairs, 10mm ending their enjoyment of, ironically, Gozezone.
Kaine folded into the bedroom as promised. The screams of the two women filled his ears like a sweet siren song. His flintlock raised at the bed. Three, two, one. The only sound that was sweeter than the scream was the sound of the wet flesh dripping from the ceiling. The bed was a twisted smoking mess. He looked at the face of one of the women staring blankly at him. Turning his face to meet her dead eyes, Kaine was fascinated. Death fascinated Kaine. Almost as much as suffering. Had he the time he would have liked to spend it exploring this fascination with the women. Alas, he shrugged, time is once again not on his side. Maybe he'd pick up later tonight? The thought warmed him as he turned nonchalantly bringing his GASH fist into the naked DarkNight Op that had hoped to sneak up on him with a stolen FEN 603. The sound of the sucking chest wound brought the reality of his inevitable death to the face of the DarkNight Op. Kaine raised his finger to his own lips, then to the dying man's lips.
You sick fuck, Iscariot thought, as he moved his scope across the safe house. All clear from his vantagepoint.
"Five here, all clear."
"Copy that Five. Status?" Peyton asked, despite knowing the answer.
"Four, Clear."
"One, Clear."
"Three?" Peyton asked.
Kaine stood looking at the DarkNight op, kneeling, trying to hold his guts in. The blood pool was expanding exponentially at his knees. The man's face was pale, and his breathing was ragged. Kaine was enraptured.
"You know me?" Kaine spaced the words slowly.
The dying man looked at Kaine's smiling face, confused.
"I am your deliverer. I shall deliver you from this place. Does that comfort you?"
No answer.
"Tell me what you see! What are you feeling? Does it hurt still? Answer me. ANSWER ME!" Kaine was shaking him now.
This was the worst part, they could never tell him what he wanted to know. What was it like? What do you see at the point when you realise you were going to die, and nothing could stop it?
"Three?" Peyton swung his binoculars over to the safe house, but Kaine was on the opposite side. "Five, you see Three?"
"Standby" Iscariot looked again. Jesus, he was still wasting time on that DarkNight Op. "Yeah I got him. Third bedroom. Rooms' clear. He's just yanking his crank."
"Copy that. Sweep the safe house, find and secure the ordnance. Con and Two are en route." Peyton turned to me, and smiled. "Let's go little one" he smiled roguishly. I catch my breath. It still affected me.
"Hello?" the voice had no emotion. No sex.
"Departmental Clearance Echo-Two-Six go secure."
An electronic tone indicated a scrambler was online. "Go ahead."
"Hello? Franklin Corres speaking."
"Mr. Corres, I understand that Blessed Noir Squad has been authorised for liquidation."
What the hell? Franklin's mind raced, "Who is this?"
"Mr. Corres, it is irrelevant who I am. What is relevant is that Peyton Walsh is of interest to me, and therefore of interest to you."
Franklin began to sweat. Jesus, don't say it don't say it
"Mr. Corres, Peyton Walsh must be brought in. Alive, Mr. Corres. Do I make myself clear?"
"How do I make that happen? I mean…" the rest of the sentence was caught in his throat. He couldn't continue. His mouth was dry. What was going on? His throat began to constrict, and his breath became ragged.
"Mr. Corres. I suggest that you find a way to make this happen. I would hate to have to sign your Extermination Warrant."
His throat cleared, "No sir, of course I will do my utmost. Sir, I will need to…"
The line went dead.
What the fuck was that all about? Franklin thought, as his shaking hand reached out to his rolodex, though the sickening feeling in his gut told him he knew already.
Peyton was on the phone. Calling in to Joseph Pyro, our contact at Recovery. He wasn't talking, though. Strange. Maybe Joseph wasn't at his desk.
"So I'm like through the fuckin' door right and I go from right tae left, and those fuckers didnay know what hit 'em right? Like I wisnah playin' round right. Blam fucking blam. Brains and fuckin' scull were all over the place. I swear I got hit from three metres away. Dead set."
Campbell liked the downtime. We were at his place, having a drink for a job well done.
I was smiling in the kitchen, listening to his description of the carnage. I was hated hearing about the killing, but if I didn't concentrate on that and just listened to Campbell's raving, I could cope. I also think of all the lives we've saved by getting those guns of the street. That's how I get through it.
M'rt'rs is cleaning his weapon. First things first. He would sit quietly for a while, then probably have a drink and eat some of the Pizza I am cooking and then add his own rendition of the events. Kaine was in the back room, doing who knows what. I shudder to think. I notice Peyton coming in to the kitchen.
"You get a hold of Joseph?" I ask putting a piece of capsicum in his mouth. He shook his head. Looking worried. "What's up?"
"He should be there. Instead I get his machine. It's just not like him to be like that. He's can be an asshole but he should be there. I don't like having all this gear here and no one to advise of a drop off point." Peyton looked deep in thought, but not worried. Peyton never looked worried. He was too in control for that. When Peyton worried, then the situation was, as Campbell put it 'fubar'.
"Don't worry, he'll call soon." I smile and give him a drink. He takes it and smiles. I like his smile.
Kaine walks back into the room, as there is a knock at the door.
"Oi, Kaine, get me another drink and yer'self wan, yer fallin' behind, yer skirt" Campbell bellowed from the living room, "and get the fuckin' door while yer at it."
"Go fuckyourself basehead," Kaine spat as he walked to the door.
Peyton's phone was ringing.
This was determined after Campbell had fired off four rounds of his Blitzer down the tunnel. I don't know what I panicked at the most, the phone ringing or Campbell's gunfire. My Blitzer felt foreign in my hand, despite the custom grip. Peyton was standing with his flintlock pointed at the entrance of the tunnel.
"Fuck!" Campbell verbalised what we all were thinking.
"Ease up, it's just the phone" Peyton's hand was shaking as he grabbed his phone. "Hello" he other hand still had the flintlock pointed at the entrance.
"Peyton Walsh? This is Franklin Corres. Are you alright?"
"Who?" Peyton's paranoia was at an all time high. He felt that someone was watching him. From the darkness. Or maybe it was the darkness itself.
"Franklin Corres, Mr. Walsh. I work for the Department of Subversive Activities. We heard what happened at your squad mates apartment. Are you and your team intact?"
Silence.
"Mr. Walsh?"
Silence.
"Peyton?" My voice was shaking.
"Corres? No my fucking team is not intact. I have two confirmed dead, one missing and we are all shot to hell. So my team is pretty fucking far from intact!"
"Mr. Walsh, I apologise about what happened to your team. We have been trying to locate, Mr. Joseph Pyro, however it seems that he is unavailable. Did he give you an extraction point?"
"Joseph?"
"Mr. Walsh? Are you listening to me?
"Joseph is missing?"
"Yes, Mr. Walsh, missing. Mr. Walsh let us bring your team in for a debriefing. Where are you?"
"Wha…? I do.. I don't understand. How could he be missing?"
"Mr. Walsh, we can discuss this further at our offices, but we need to ensure that you are safe. Please gives us your location and we'll send in a team to extract you."
"Um…yeah sure." Peyton lowered the phone from his ear. Was that something moving ahead? In the darkness? "We are in DownTown. Behind Reno's bar. Paradise."
"Excellent Mr. Walsh. We'll be there ASAP."
Julia had to get up early in the morning so she wasn't staying. Guess I don't get any in the morning, thought Iscariot as he listened to the water running in the bathroom. He reached out and grabbed his Feelgoods from the box next to his mattress. Lighting up, he dropped the pack on the floor and grabbed the old tin he used for an ashtray and put it on his stomach. I wonder if Stephanie is home, he thought as smoke rings floated gently away from his face. I'll give her a call after Julia leaves.
A knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Iscariot asked, grabbing his Blitzer of the table. You never answered the door in DownTown without it. It was just common sense.
"It's Siobhan Lee, Department of Investigation, please open the door." Came the answer.
Department of Investigation? What the fuck is this all about? "Hang on" Iscariot pulled on his Digs.
"What, what can I do for you?" He said as the door swung open to reveal a total hardbody.
"You alone?" Siobhan looked around.
"Nah, Julia, my girl…sister is in the shower. Drink?" Iscariot went to the coffee maker. His brains splattered all over the mildewed cupboards. Siobhan stepped back as the blood ran freely from the now headless corpse.
"No thank you." Siobhan walked into the shower.
A scream. Two spent shells hitting the linoleum floor. Siobhan stepped back out into the bedsit. Looking around, she snorted derisively and turned back to the door. Closing it. She reported in.
From the room, the phone rang.
The debriefing room was a barren affair. A table, two chairs and a small camera in the top right hand corner of the room. Peyton looked around. He wondered how long he would be kept here. Where was Calliope? Campbell? Did Iscariot turn up? He tried to calm himself but he found his thoughts unable to focus.
What the hell happened? Peyton went over the night again in his head. The operation went smoothly. Very smoothly. Did they get tipped off? If so, why weren't they waiting for them? Why let them get home first and then strike? It seemed like a large waste of manpower. Those operatives lives could have been saved. It didn't make sense.
"Mr. Walsh?" Franklin had entered the room.
Peyton jumped from his chair, startled. His hand instinctively going for his empty Blitzer holster. Franklin Corres looked pale.
"Mr. Walsh! I am Franklin Corres. Please, try and relax."
"Yeah, sorry. Still spooked out I guess." Peyton offered lamely. He sat back down.
"How are you feeling Mr. Walsh?" Franklin opened the conversation.
"Where's Calliope? And the rest of my team? What's going on here?"
"All in good time Mr. Walsh. Your team is being de briefed at present."
"What happened to the ordnance?"
"The ordnance was recovered Mr. Walsh. The mission was a success."
"Success! Success? Two of my fucking team are dead, one is missing and you call it a success?"
"Mr. Walsh please I understand your concern, but please try to remain calm." Actually, that's three dead Mr. Walsh. And your Frother friend is on his way to Dante as we speak.
Peyton sat bolt upright and looked at the door. He was scared. Franklin moved back from the table cautiously looking from Peyton to the door.
The door opened. Peyton stumbled back over his chair. Shaking his head. "No! It's not time yet. No I'm not ready."
Franklin backed away from the table. "Who are you talking to Mr. Walsh?" He looked at the door. It was empty. "Mr. Walsh?"
Peyton was crying now. Silently mouthing his disbelief. He looked at the door as he sank to the floor. Franklin was becoming alarmed. What the fuck is this shit? Franklin thought as he looked at the door. It was still empty.
Peyton looked down at the ground and wiped his eyes. He stood. Resigned, he looked back at the door. His face a picture of solemn acceptance of a fate he cannot escape. Nodding to some unseen instructions, Peyton walked towards the door.
"Mr. Walsh! This debriefing hasn't finished. Mr. Walsh I must insist that you sit down."
An unseen force prevented Franklin from moving. His words caught in his throat. The sweat was cold on his back and he began to shiver. What the hell was going on here?
The door closed.
Franklin didn't know how long he stood there, but it was three days before the nausea left him and he could return to work
"PEYTON!" I yell as he passes the door.
"Peyton!" I race out of the room, and caught up with him. He looked at me, no, through me. "Peyton? What's wrong Peyton? Look at me. Peyton, it’s me Calliope. Peyton?"
I cup his face in my hands and pulled his face to mine. His lips felt cold. His eyes, colder. "Peyton? What happened to you? Did they hurt you?"
Peyton looked at me; his fingers caressed my face. "Calliope I have to go now."
I knew without knowing. I looked into his eyes. Nothing. He accepted it. NO! I couldn't live without him. I needed him. Peyton no, please.
I watch him walk away from me, walk down the hall. There were no doors at the sides, just a door at the end of the corridor. A single door. Closed. An ethereal light shone from around the edges of it. I screamed out to him, but there was no sound. I couldn't move. I was frozen.
Peyton opened the door. And he was gone.
"Calliope?" A female voice broke through the consuming silence.
The sounds of the offices rushed back to fill my ears like a wave crashing into me, rising to a cacophonic din. I turn to see the beautiful woman standing behind me, reaching out for me. I turned back to where Peyton left me. The long corridor was gone, replaced instead by a row of offices full of people hurrying about performing their mindless tasks. The door with the light was gone. Peyton was gone.
"Calliope. Please, come this way." The woman was helping me to my feet.
"Tha…thank you. I..I..Where am I?" I was confused. Who was this woman, where was this place?
"Department of Investigations. Please come with me. I shall take you home."
I allowed myself to be led. I couldn't stop crying. I was in a car. I assume that we are going home. I look out the window of the vehicle. I don't recognise where I am going? I look around to the woman next to me in the back of the car. Where was she taking me? What was her name?
"Excuse me, what did you say your name was again?" I tap on her shoulder. She turns and looks at me. I see her smile. I see her mouth open. I see the barrel of her silenced FEN 603 pointing at me from her lap. I don't understand. My mouth opens.
"Siobhan Lee, Cloak Division."
It was all silent. Silent and slow. Like a dream
Copyright © 2000 Matthew Wood